A Presidential Divorce
by ScandalMania
Summary: Inspired by Vermontgate, I really, REALLY want Olitz in the White House. So here's a version of that dream... Can the Fixer and the Leader of the Free World make it happen...?
1. Chapter 1

"Ma'am you left your phone on the counter with your coffee."

Olivia glanced up, bewildered, her phone in her hand. Then paused, catching Tom's wink.

"Thanks," she murmured as he passed her the phone and the coffee-to-go she hadn't yet ordered.

"Just the way you like it," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

"Thank you." She smiled, watching as he left the cafe.

In less than a minute, the phone rang.

"You got me a new phone," she said softly, walking towards her car.

"I miss you."

A shiver of need ran through her. "It's barely been a day."

"I miss you every minute of every day."

"Fitz..."

"I want to see you."

"You did. For an hour... all night." She closed her eyes, reliving the beauty of his touch, his kisses, his love... in the house he'd built for her… for them… and their children. She fought back tears, glad of the privacy in her car.

"Livvie…" Fitz breathed her name in a husky undertone that caressed her skin. "I need more than that. Come over. We'll talk."

"You want me to work on your campaign?" she murmured thickly, trying to deflect.

There was a long pause, then he replied softly, "I want to hold you."

"Fitz..."

"I love you."

He waited. This time she forced the words out, the ones she always carried in her heart. "I love you too, Fitz."

He sighed. "Thank you," he breathed softly. "I know that wasn't easy."

She gave a small laugh. "I have to go."

"No, there's car waiting on the corner. It'll bring you to me."

"That's not a good idea. We can't do this now."

"We can. We can pretend it's about my campaign if you want."

"Fitz..."

"Liv, the car's waiting. And so am I."

"Lauren, is he..?"

"Go right in, Ms Pope. He's waiting for you. You won't be disturbed," she paused, giving a slight smile. "By anyone. President's orders."

Olivia felt her cheeks heat as she opened the door and walked in, to find Fitz already heading around his desk, towards her.

"Mr President," she said softly.

"Ms Pope."

He grinned, she smiled back.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Then she was in his arms, his mouth on hers; her hands in his thick, curly hair. It was later – much, much later – that she remembered the cameras.

"It's okay," he murmured, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "Tom is on archiving duty tonight."

She leaned her cheek into his palm with a soft smile, prompting a soft groan to escape him before he reached for her lips again.

"Fitz... we have to stop," she moaned, eyes closing in bliss as his mouth shifted to trail down her neck.

"No," he whispered back, pressing his lips against her sweet spot, the one he'd discovered, the spot that was wholly his.

She shivered again.

"I want you."

"You have me."

He raised his head to look at her.

"Not for a few stolen moments. I want you. With me. Always. I love you."

She couldn't say it back to him. Not here, not in this house - the White House no less - that he shared with his wife. So she smiled, reaching up to cup his face, her heart full.

His gaze was solemn as he stared back at her. "I love you, Livvie. I'll keep saying it until you believe me. Until you realise you're everything to me. I want us to be together."

"We will be. When the time is right. In Vermont..."

"I don't want to wait."

She stared at him, slowly dropped her hands. "What are you saying?"

"When can you move in?"

"Fitz!" She laughed.

"I'm serious."

Olivia stepped, away from him, folding her arms across her chest. "I don't have to move in to work for you."

He gave a crooked smile. "This isn't about you working for me."

"And Mellie is okay with this?" She began pacing. "The three of us living under one roof – you, your wife and your mistress?"

"Don't."

"Oh, that's right, only you get to call me that when you're angry. To Mellie, I'm just a whore!"

Fitz rocked back on his heels, adding quietly, "That's what I want to change."

"Which part?" Olivia asked sweetly, "The mistress or the whore?"

"The wife."

She stopped pacing to stare at him. "Fitz! You're running for re-election!"

"I know. I don't care. I'm getting that divorce."

"This would ruin you! You won't stand a chance! They'll crucify you, at the very least impeach you-!"

He reached her in a couple of steps to gather her in his arms, waiting until his quiet strength calmed her. "I want to run again, with you by my side. I don't want hide anymore."

"Fitz, you can't."

"We can. We're standing in a place of big ideas, Livvie. Great things can happen."

"A divorce won't be considered great, not by the people, not by your party. Fitz, do you want that to be your legacy?" She raised her head in despair.

"Livvie," he groaned, cupping her face. "I don't want to do this anymore. Not without you."

"With me, you won't be President. There's never been a divorce in the White House."

"Perhaps it's time for this President to show that he is just a man who wants to be with the woman he loves, and that's okay even in the White House." Fitz reached for her hand and led her to the couch, settling her next to him until she was snuggled up in his arms.

"Imagine," he murmured against her temple. "This could be us. After a meeting of the joint chiefs- just like this - me chilling on the couch, telling you all about it, getting your advice, while I give you a foot massage."

That made her smile but when Olivia drew her head back to look at him all she said was, "Fitz, this isn't a love story, it won't have a happy ending."

"Not if we let Cyrus or Mellie write it. But this is our story, Liv. Yours and mine - our love."

"Our painful devastating love…"

He gave her a quizzical look. "Is that what you think we have? Even after Vermont?"

"It hasn't always been like that. We've hurt each other."

"We've hurt each other when one of us is trying to push the other one away. It was painful when we stopped trusting each other; devastating when we let our secrets almost destroy us. But when we're together, what we have - is heaven. Pure heaven. Our little piece of heaven on earth."

"Oh Fitz," She closed her eyes, but the tears she'd been holding back ever since she'd heard his voice seeped through her lashes.

He kissed them away. "We can do this. Trust me. Trust us."

"I'm so afraid..."

"Afraid of what, my love?"

A sob escaped her, as she opened her eyes and locked gazes with him. "Afraid that I'll destroy your career and it would be for nothing, because you'll realise that it wasn't worth it."

She broke his heart, she could see it on his face. His loving, handsome, honest face. "Livvie, I knew you'd be worth it from the first moment I met you."

"You wanted to fire me."

"Yeah," Fitz grinned ruefully, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. "I was a fool."

"No, you were being protective of your marriage."

"My marriage, in which two people are legally contracted to live in bitter, lonely martyrdom, not even knowing it doesn't have to be that way, until the love of your life arrives to hold a mirror to your life, showing you everything that's been missing and everything that's possible."

"And now you want to thank me by destroying your career."

"Livvie, I. Love. You. You're the love of my life. I want to share a life with you. I want what we shared in Vermont here in the White House with you."

"Fitz, this isn't France."

"We're close enough to Montreal to pretend."

She tried for exasperation, but a giggle escaped.

"I really hate you."

"You love me."

"No, I really, really hate you right now, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant,"

"The third."

"The third." She scrunched her nose at him, making him chuckle as he added,

"Why, Ms Olivia Carolyn Pope?"

She kissed him.

"You can kiss me, but I still want to know," he murmured, slipping his tongue into her mouth for a taste, a taste that set the curling warmth in her belly ablaze.

"Tell me, Livvie."

"You're making me believe...in a happily ever after... for us."

He grinned at her, that same cheeky 'let's be inappropriate' smile he'd given her all those years ago in the shadows of a campaign bus. Only they weren't in the shadows. They were sitting on a Presidential couch in the Oval office, under the scrutiny of ever present cameras, contemplating political disaster.

"Livvie, stop," he breathed against her lips. "I can see that brilliant mind of yours come up with all the ways this will not work - but you're the fixer and I'm the President. We can do this. Let's make this happen. We've earned it. We've earned the right to be happy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Forgot to add this last time - Shondaland/ABC own these characters. I'm happy to lovingly borrow them (Olivia and Fitz in particular) for a little while.**

BTW, I'm having selective amnesia about certain themes : the premise of 3.07; B613; Operation Remington; Joke... but I love Joe Morton, so Rowan is in and Maya... hmm...

* * *

"Sir, was that... Olivia... I saw leaving just now?" Cyrus entered just minutes after she'd left.

"Yes," Fitz confirmed softly, a slow smile spreading over his mouth.

Cyrus responded with a beetling scowl. "You might want to take care of that- that-," he waved his hand at Fitz's face, "-lipstick!"

Fitz rubbed a thumb over his mouth, then smiled again at seeing the red stain on his skin.

"So I gather it's...good news?"

"Very good news, Cy."

"She's coming to work on the campaign."

"In a manner of speaking."

"What manner would that be, sir?"

"I'm getting a divorce."

Cyrus eyed Fitz as if he'd just asked about the weather, and was told a meteor was heading his way for a direct hit. He took a deep breath, then swung on his heel and headed for the door, yelling out to Lauren, "Who am I?"

Lauren glanced around him at Fitz, who shrugged.

"Uhm, you're Cyrus Beene, the White House chief of staff."

"Thank you, Lauren." Cyrus smiled, and closed the door. That fake - I'm walking on a bunion - smile pasted on his face, which Fitz blithely ignored.

"So now that we've cleared up your little identity crisis, Cy, what's our next order of business?'

"Do you know why I had that little identity crisis? No? I just wanted to be sure that I am Cyrus Rutherford Beene, your chief of staff and not the ever-loving Bill Murray reliving a nightmare in Groundhog Day. Do you remember that movie, sir, about a little furry ferret."

"Groundhog."

"Yes, that varmint, who forces a man to live the same day over and over and over again."

"Your point being?" Fitz raised a brow.

"My point-!" Cyrus sat on the couch opposite. "My point being, haven't we gone over this. We did a poll, several in fact, to find out what we already know – that the American public hates the idea of you, Mellie and a divorce."

"There was Teddy in the equation then."

"Oh you mean he isn't now? Has he gone to join Jerry and Karen in Neverland?"

"Teddy is too young to know what's going on, but he deserves to have a mother who can carry him for more than a photo op, without needing a sanitiser."

"And you've spoken about your plans to the said 'santising' mother?"

"Not yet."

Cyrus stared. "You haven't..." He gave an expected chortle of mirth, slapping his knee. "Oh I can't wait to witness that conversation! You might want to have your little chat on the North Lawn - hardly any breakables there. Nothing of national significance. And you can always throw her in the pool to cool off when she gets too heated in her arguments."

Fitz allowed himself the luxury of imagining Mellie tossed into the pool, and having her sputtering up water along with the fountain. Then he shook his head, "I'll talk to her tonight, after the staff have taken the cutlery away from the Family Dining Room."

"Okay, enough of this Saturday Night Live skit, you cannot get a divorce. It's political Armageddon. The concept of a presidential divorce won't work in the good ole U.S. of A."

"Nothing is truly impossible."

"Yes, it is! Or I would be President!"

Fitz leaned forward, feeling a wave of sympathy. "Cy, maybe that needs to be your big idea, but for now, while I hold this office, my big idea is to introduce people to the concept that divorce is a right that even a President should have."

"The American people aren't ready."

"Cyrus, I'm the leader of the free world, and I've realised the person who really needs to be free is me."

After Cyrus had left, shaking his head and muttering about having heart palpitations, Fitz took out his 'Liv' phone.

He smiled when she answered on the first ring. "Miss me?"

"Don't you have work? You know, 'leader of the free world' kind of stuff to do?"

"I do, that's why I'm talking to you."

She laughed, that raunchy, full-throated laugh that made him shift in his chair.

"I told Cyrus about the divorce."

"Did he have another heart attack?"

"No, but I think he's gone to double his medication."

"Oh," she giggled, "I shouldn't. My bad."

"I love this," he murmured.

"What?"

"Hearing you laugh. Do it again."

"Fitz! I can't laugh on command!" she said, giggling nonetheless.

"What else won't you do on command?" he asked seductively, drawling out the question in a husky undertone.

"Fitz, stop it! I'm laughing so hard, I'm distracting other drivers."

"Okay, I'll be serious." He paused, then added, "Next time...wear a skirt, and no undies..."

"Goodbye!"

"No."

"Yes! I'm being a responsible driver."

"You're a very responsible driver. That's why I let you drive me crazy all the time."

"Okay that's it, I'm really going now!" She laughed.

He waited, smiling.

"Fitz..."

"I love you."

There was a small pause, then she said softly, all traces of laughter gone from her voice. "I love you too."

"Honey, you've hardly touched anything on your plate. Are you feeling okay?"

Fitz gave a pained smile at Mellie's saccharine sweetness. He was waiting for her to finish the precise little squares of sirloin steak, but she was taking her time, chattering about the symposium of American Poets she'd hosted that afternoon.

"It was one huge yawn. I mean really do these people know the difference between Haiku and Haagen-Dazs. Oh and you wouldn't believe there was a 'list', I wouldn't call it a poem of every blooming-heck ice cream flavour ever invented. I mean really. I could have screamed and not for ice cream..."

Fitz needed a drink. No, he needed Olivia. He glanced at Mellie's steak knife, and decided to risk his neck before his brain atrophied in boredom.

"I want a divorce."

Mellie's mouth fell open, with her fork suspended in mid-air.

"What?"

"I want a divorce."

Mellie's jaw clicked shut and she placed her fork, carrying the skewered meat, neatly on her plate. Then she lifted her napkin to dab her mouth, before turning to Fitz.

"Is this your whore's idea?"

"Don't." The quiet word betrayed none of the sharp, blazing rage he felt at hearing the slur.

"I will call her whatever I like! You're my husband! 'To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer in sickness and in health until death do us part'! Did you forget that?! Did she?! One night with you and she thinks she can just waltz in here and take my place. Well that little slut-!"

"Enough!" Fitz roared. "I won't hear you use one more disgusting epithet against Liv. There's only one person I know who'd sell their soul for power, after my own father, and that person is you!"

"I wasn't publicly shamed for cheating in my marriage!"

"You have Olivia to thank for that. No, wait, I don't recall any thanks. What I do recall is that you wanted Liv to keep seeing me, to 'keep me in line'. I'd call you a pimp but I don't want to get into that habit in front of the kids. And Liv, she is the love of my life."

Mellie's hand curled around the steak knife handle.

"Want to stick that in me, Mellie? Might sully your image as the wronged wife."

Mellie pushed the knife away and sprang to her feet. "I did all this for you! I made you!"

"No, you did all for you. You made me an anchor to your ambitions. You made me feel miserable and alone in this so-called marriage. Our vows were just lies, I felt it then and I know it now. It would have been more honest to say that you'd keep me hog-tied by your side, for all the power and prestige I could bring. You wanted all this, more than I did. More than you ever wanted to be a wife or mother, those are the necessary evils you had to endure for what you wanted. You did all this for you, Mellie, and it's time you faced that truth."

"Oh, what a nice speech. Did your ex-Communications Director write that for you? She always could come up with glib words to dress a turkey in a Tux!"

"And there you have it, ladies and gentleman, my loving, supportive wife."

"Oh, shut it, Fitzgerald! You divorce me and you can say goodbye to being President. That's the packaged deal you're stuck with!"

With that Mellie tossed her hair, and strode out, getting in the last word that night.

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**Wow, thank you :) . I have readers – yeah ! Love your comments. Keep them coming - let me know the good, bad and ugly (yes, I speak in Hollywood cliches!). This is a work in progress – mainly, my progress as a writer, so really appreciate the feedback.  
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